March 2015

March 30, 2015

I can't believe Momo is ten days old today. I don't know where the days have gone. What am I saying, yes I do. The days are filled with logging our breastfeeding sessions and dirty diapers and I can't explain the pride I feel every time she poops. It's incredible to me that this:

Became this:

And that suddenly all that happened in the past is starting to take a different shape. Genetics don't matter, that I feel for sure. And my perspective on the agony Noah and I spent deciding what to do next is starting to shift a bit. What matters most now is that Momo eats and poops. I'm still trying to decide what my birth story means, and I'll spend the rest of this week writing more about it. From the comments, it sounds like many others have had traumatic births and as I slowly roll out of the fog here, it will be interesting for me to explore that a little. All that's important to me is that she and I are both ok, but there are moments where I think about laying helpless in the hospital bed after a blood transfusion, crying hysterically that I wasn't able to hold her. My memory is splotchy but the feelings are there.

Anyway, a few housekeeping notes today. I'd like to continue to write this blog. Though I understand that I'm officially off IF Island and that baby talk can be super annoying to anyone still in the struggle, I feel like perhaps we can all transition together. I also feel like the comments from former IF Islanders provide a sense of hope and good information, so I want to keep that going.

What I'm thinking is to write about pregnancy and parenting after IF and about Momo on Mondays. Momo Mondays. I'll cover topics that are related to her and to donor conception and the unique issues that might arise with parenting after infertility and having a new baby in general. But on Friday's I'll do my best to be IF specific. Flashback Friday's to the years Noah and I spent on IF Island. I'll try to post more video from our documentary, One More Shot, and I'll encourage more dialogue about infertility in general. Anything I write in-between will be random.

Does that sound like a deal?

And speaking of our documentary, we have ONE MORE WEEK to raise the funds necessary to create a polished feature length film. Our fundraising efforts got derailed by me blasting a human out of my privates a week early, so we need your help to get back on track and make this final push for our Indiegogo campaign.

Thank you all for all the love and support and for the thoughtful comments. It means so much to Noah and I. Sending lots of love and hopefully hope to anyone out there still in the fight to find your family.

March 25, 2015

Forgive me in advance, this post is long. And the tone is perhaps more like the book I've been working on, rather than what I usually post. I haven't gone all intense, but the last few days have been really intense.

A friend of mine promised I’d have an easy birth. I had to. She said that since I had such a hard time getting pregnant and so many challenges throughout the pregnancy, that I’d have an easy birth and an awesome child. She was right about one of those.

There’s a stillness that 3:30am brings. The light is soft and the world is asleep. Noah and I were awake, trying to assess the situation. We thumbed through the birthing class books—charts of early labor, signs of water breaking. I paced the room, throwing last minutes items into our hospital bag. I knew this was it. She was coming. But I also needed dental floss. And seven different hair things. And five different beverages. You never know what you might be in the mood for mid contraction. We labored at home until I felt like I couldn’t walk anymore. We wanted to wait until 6am to call the doctor. Let him have a good night’s sleep. We didn’t know what was ahead. I was supposed to see him for a regular appointment at 9:15am— it was a week before my due date. I told him I could hold off until the appointment so he could tell me if I was actually in labor. He said why? Go to the hospital. So we did. By 7:30am we were checked in and I was checked out. I stayed in the dress I was wearing. Not sure why. I waddled around the room and bounced on the exercise ball. I answered simple questions. Did I want an epidural? No. Did I want a jug of ice water? Yes. The rest is a blur peppered by intense visuals.

Noah and I and two nurses watched my contractions on the monitor and couldn’t figure out why they were coming so fast and close together. The birth class lady said I should “rest between contractions” but I never had space. They came one after another and the nurse said, “everyone’s labor is different.” I remember looking at Noah desperately, crying, “I’m not getting a break! The lady said I would get a break!” As if I didn’t get the free cookie with the lunch special I had ordered. Where’s my cookie? So I breathed and Noah counted and reminded me that our baby was coming.

My parents showed up by late morning. Dad wanted to make small talk. Suggested turning on the TV as I wailed in low guttural agony. He ate some M&M’s as he tried to figure out if March 20th was indeed the first day of spring. I yelled at him to stop talking and that was the last coherent thing I remember saying. He was quiet from then on, and the air in the room became intense. An hour or so later our good friend and camera man showed up. Welcome to the shit show. Are we really going to document this? Our final ending is finally the beginning.

By mid afternoon I was 9 cm dilated. The rapid successions of the contractions perhaps helped me progress so quickly. The doctor was called. A table full of “instruments” was wheeled in, covered by a blue paper cloth. For a moment I wondered if there were sandwiches underneath.

Dr. G came in and I started to push. The expectation for a speedy delivery was evident. I was in position. It was just after 3pm. But the more I pushed the more that expectation dwindled. At about an hour in the doc took off his scrubs and said, “I’ll be right back.” “Where are you going?” I asked, thinking, aren’t we kinda doing something here, man? “I’ve gotta call my wife and tell her I’m going to be late.”

It had already been about an hour. How late for dinner was he going to be? I felt a little guilty— but I also felt a burning in my privates that cannot be explained.

Another hour passed and I kept going through the same routine. The doc would instruct me to push longer and harder, counting to ten. The nurses pushed my feet towards my head and I pushed with everything I could. Over and over again. Two hours in we discovered Momo’s head was turned funny and stuck in my pelvis. The head nurse and the doctor exchanged subtle glances that told me this was not good. I kept pushing. I asked what I was doing wrong—what I could do differently. He offered me pain medication, he offered to vacuum her out but I shook my head. I wanted this my way. Nothing has been my way, and the pain seemed like some kind of transformative physical manifestation of the last four years trying to make a family. Wanting it so badly. Being so close. Feeling so scared yet so determined. Thinking about her. Our baby that we didn’t know. That we couldn’t imagine. That we wanted so badly to come but couldn’t find. The whole labor experience seemed to be this physical manifestation of our journey. How it started with just Noah and I. Confused in the darkness at home, the stillness of the early morning light. Then we went to get help, we went for medical interventions. We had our expectations and then we learned to let it go. My family came to support. My parents have wanted this so badly too. Their first grandchild. They’ve been searching for four years too. Then it seemed like we were getting close, only to be told we’d have to keep pushing. By hour three a team of nurses surrounded the bed. There had been a shift changed, but the previous shift didn’t want to leave. They wanted to see how this was going to end. So did I. I was surrounded by 11 people. New faces popped into view in the rare moments my eyes were open. These women, holding my legs, cheering me on, telling me lies to keep my fight up—just one more push! These strangers came together to help me pull through, just like all the friends I’ve made on IF Island. Friends I’ve never met, who shared a piece of themselves and their stories, friends who have cheered us on these past few years. I heard one young nurse in training ask if she could stay, even though she needed to clock out. Yes, but she couldn’t do anything, she just had to watch. She nodded and became part of the cheer squad.

I thought that ring of fire moment was only supposed to last a few seconds, or minutes. I though that once the head had crowned, that it would pop out, like a ground hog signaling the first day of spring. Her head didn’t pop out. It wedged in and I pushed and cried and I saw the doc and nurse exchange glances again and I told myself to push her out before something bad happens. And I did. And the few things I felt strongly about on our “birth plan” fell apart. I couldn’t hold her right away, something was happening. There was a lot of blood, but isn’t that labor? Only parts of my placenta were coming out— what’s placenta accreta? The doctor apologized as he dug up into my uterus to scoop out what he could of the placenta and I screamed. From the corner of my eye I could see her. Momo, writhing under the warmer, greenish in color but moving. Noah talked to her, looked at her, put his finger in her tiny hand as the doc explained to me that I had to go into surgery. I had to have a D&C, possibly a hysterectomy. The room became chaos. We had to go now. Noah was given the choice to stay with the baby as she went into the NICU to have her breathing better checked, or to stay with me. He looked at me with love and terror and I said, “stay with the baby,” and then I was gone. I signed consents under twilight of anesthesia and then woke up freezing and shaking, alone until my sister showed up. She’d driven from up North, seven months pregnant and sat with me until they let me see Momo, for the first time. She was beautiful. 7lbs 8oz of sweetness.

I’m not really sure where the last five days have gone. Much of it was spent in the hospital. I couldn’t move for two days. I had a balloon in my uterus, that emptied blood into a bag, but I still had my uterus. My mantra that’s gotten me through IF Island continued to play in my head. This too shall pass, it’s not going to be this way forever, however painful it is now.

We were supposed to go home on day two but stayed for what end up to be two reasons. My recovery and Momo getting jaundice. She spent night in the NICU and I cried and cried as Conner Oberst singing You are Your Mother’s Child played on a loop in my head. The last day in the hospital was a nightmare, but then it passed. As I was wheeled out of the hospital by a man named Jose, he cooed over Momo. “She’s so cute,” he said, and she smiled, the little flirt. And Jose said, “She looks just like you when she smiles.” “Thank you,” I replied as I started crying.

Yesterday I ran around taking Momo to doctors and for blood work— I’ve been trying to figure out how to feed her and wondering if I’m a bad mother if I don’t use Honest Co. dish washing soap. I’ve been watching Noah fall deeper and deeper in love with his little girl. Last night I asked him if he felt anything about not being genetically related to her, and he said, “even though he didn’t make her, she was his.” He felt that 100%. But we did make her. We made her from our hearts and our guts and our love. She is 100% ours, and oddly enough looks like my sister and has Noah’s feet.

Today Momo’s poop changed from black tar to mustard seeds. My body is working, my milk has come in. I’m anxious about feeding her and sometimes feel insane and then I look at her, the little Buddha she is, and try to take a deep breath. I haven’t slept at all since last Thursday and my body is a wreck but I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. Because Momo is finally here. Arrived on the first day of spring.

March 19, 2015

I wanted to make anyone who lives in the So-Cal area aware of the Art of IF pop up exhibit that is coming up in Calabasas on April 25th. (Exhibits will also be in Iowa, and Washington DC in the coming months so check out the schedule). The ART of Infertility is an infertility artwork, oral history and portraiture project and traveling exhibit. The exhibit educates, raises awareness and provides a creative outlet and community of support for those experiencing the effects of the disease of Infertility. Anyone who wants to submit art work still can, just click on the link above for more information.

I wrote about the Art of IF before and about the value and importance of art and self-expression and creating something tangible to help the healing process on IF Island. I do strongly believe in that. I'm not particularly artistic so I've always processed through my writing. Noah uses his camera lens. Creating something we can see and touch has helped us understand in the midst of total chaos. And now that we are getting close to the end here (39 weeks on Sunday, I see the doc tomorrow, though I'm not sure he can give me any real info on when Momo might make her grand entrance), we can start to see the shifts and differences in both ourselves and our creative processes.

For a long time our sense of humor suffered. It's kind of one of the first things to go when you get your passport stamped at the border of IF Island. Things just don't seem as funny anymore. For two complete goobers like Noah and I, we always tried to find a little laughter, even in the midst of total despair, but since we've documented everything, we can look back and really see the moments where smiling was hard.

We are grateful every day that things are different now, and that after almost 5 years of searching for our baby, she could come any day now. We can fully go back to being our ridiculous selves in a way.

WARNING: There are belly parts in the picts below. I'm SUPER sensitive about posting belly parts and apologize to anyone who gets triggered.

These are the closest things we will get to P photos...

I also wanted to take moment and say thank you to all the people on IF Island who have supported us and who have been spreading the word and donating to our Indiegogo Fundraising Campaign. Noah and I are really touched at how the community can come together and we appreciate it so much.

March 18, 2015

I came across this cleaning out my desk. It was in a binder from a training I did with a fabulous therapist and hypnotherapist in New York, named Helen Adrienne. If you're in the NY area and need support, look her up. She teaches mind-body classes at NYU. And if you're a mental health professional, she is actually doing another training mid May. I found the training on Coping with Infertility super helpful both as a professional and a patient.

Anyway, I remember turning to this page in the binder and immediately seeing JOY IS NOWHERE. It was a month or so before we were going to pursue embryo donation and while I was excited that we found Momo and found a good option for us, I was also terrified, and still working on letting go of various expectations I had about how my family was going to be created. I had years of infertility baggage and my brain automatically went to the negative. That's what can happen when you've been struggling--with anything really. You start expecting the worst and you start seeing things through a negative lens.

Today when I came across this page, I saw JOY IS NOW HERE. I don't know if it is because I knew about my choices in perception, so to speak, or because my brain is able to see the light now. I don't know if it was automatic or if over time I've been able to cognitively restructure the way I see things. Perhaps it's because I know that any day now Momo will be here, and she is the joy we've been searching for for all these years.

Sometimes we feel like joy is nowhere. Like we've been running in circles and there is no way out. But then the clouds part and there is sunshine. There has to be sunshine, eventually, because nothing stays the same forever.

March 17, 2015

So...where do I start? I think many of you on IF Island are probably aware of the recent controversy around comments made by fashion icons Dolce & Gabbana in an interview for an Italian magazine, where they called babies created from IVF "chemical babies," and "synthetic," created from, "wombs for rent." They are quoted to have said that, "the only family is the traditional one. Life has a natural flow, there are things that should not be changed. One is the family." (My source here is the Hollywood Reporter, my source for all news. JK. But seems like they probably have this one right.)

If you haven't heard about this, welcome to the circus and try not to let other people's ignorance get you too fired up. I'm fired up enough. So is Sir Elton John (who has two kids via gestational surrogate) and his buddies. He's started a #boycottdolcegabbana campaign on twitter, and while most of us who've ever lived on IF Island are probably not in a position to actually boycott D&G because, let's be real here, when all your "disposable income" is being disposed of on shots and doctor appointments, not many of us can sport a D&G purse and matching shoes. But we can boycott in theory.

I've been trying to figure out what has upset me more. The actual comments made by these two idiots, the fact that much of the world thinks this way, or the idea that only when negative, hateful comments are made is there a conversation about alternative family building. Perhaps all of the above.

Noah and I decided to make our documentary, One More Shot, because we wanted to help this conversation about making modern families happen in a way that was positive. We want to show that all people deserve to have a family and that there are miraculous technologies that can help. We wanted to show the realities of infertility and normalize the children created from ART. We want an open dialogue so people can be educated. We want to show that babies made in this alternative way are not "chemical" or "synthetic," but normal, healthy and beautiful. Unless Momo comes out and her skin is polyester, I think I can confidently say I'm right about this.

While Noah and I didn't set out to jam ourselves into a controversial conversation about traditional family values, modern science, ethics and religion, politics and health care rights, we know that ART brings up all of these issues, and honestly we are proud that we can be a voice. We set out to make a family in 2010. In about a week (OMG) we (and by we I mean me) are going to give birth to our baby girl, conceived through embryo donation. It been a long journey to get to this point, and a journey we are excited to be able to share.

Please help us reach our fundraising goal in the next two weeks, and if anyone has Elton John's contact info, send along our trailer. :) I'm off to go cut up all my Dolce and Gabbana ballgowns.

March 16, 2015

I have a few friends on IF Island who are dealing with false starts. What's a false start? It's when you think you are going to start an IVF cycle only to go in for your first monitoring appointment to find out something isn't quite right and you'll have to wait until next cycle to try again.

I didn't know about this when we were first starting the process. I thought I would just go in on day 1 of my cycle and get my bag o' shots and we'd be off and running. Ummm. No. That's not how this works sometimes. I've written a fewposts about trying to start IVF back in 2012. I think the first time I was checked I had so few follicles it didn't seem worth it. The second time was kind of the same situation. Then I had more follicles after doing acupuncture but I also had a cyst. Then.. I think I did more acupuncture and herbs to get rid of said cyst and then we were a go. It was something like that. Basically I first met the RE in May and we did our first IVF cycle in October.

I'm noticing this more and more. I have a friend who was supposed to start her cycle last month but the doc saw some fibroids or polyps so instead of starting she had a surgery to remove the polyps and ended up having to walk around with weird tubes hanging out of her privates for a few days. I have other friends who have been mentally, emotionally and physically gearing up to start but they too have cysts and have to wait. It's funny how something you dread (like starting IVF) can suddenly become something you just want the chance to do. That was at least my feeling as you can see from this short clip I found. The tease of being able to get one step closer to your family changes that dread to appreciative excitement.

All of these false starts, these months of waiting, these disappointments are perhaps more lessons in patience and being present with what is in the moment. Though I was bummed every time we couldn't move forward, I was also aware that it wasn't within my control and it wasn't my fault. Sometimes the situation just is what it is and we have to make the best decisions we can and let the rest go.

Today starts week 3 of our Indiegogo Fundraising Campaign for our documentary One More Shot. We are at about 37% of our goal and hope to be closer to at least 50% by the end of the week, as we only have two weeks left. Please help how you can-- spread the word, share the love. And have a very happy Monday.

March 13, 2015

I don't know what it's like to get P naturally and quickly. I have a specific perspective that's unique to many on IF Island, which includes years of confusion and hormones and picking yourself up off the floor to give the fertility wheel another spin. The expectation after you hit the jackpot is eternal bliss and happiness, right? "This is what you wanted?"

Hm.

I recently wrote a guest post for Fertility Planit about the Long Road to Conception and the various things that might come up for people who do finally get P after years of infertility, as well as the importance of attitude. How we think about our situation can and does impact how we feel. Though often it's hard to change thoughts and feelings, especially when you're injecting a cocktail of hormones into your belly or your body is producing all kinds of hormones. Having expectations about how we should feel often diminishes how we actually feel. I had lots of expectations during various cycles and it never served me that well.

Noah and I were talking about expectations early this morning. He's been a bit stressed out with work and the Indiegogo Fundraising Campaign and the idea that I could explode at any second. We talked about how rough the last almost five years have been and how we hope that once Momo is here we can "just be happy again," and it made me think that maybe this is an unfair expectation to put on her. We are happy. We are thrilled that our baby is two weeks away. But perhaps we also have a lot of fear. When we set out to make a family we didn't imagine it would be so hard or take so much time. We didn't think we'd be giving birth to a child not genetically related to us. Expectations out the window, right?

So now I'm working on letting go of expectations of myself and labor/birth and how I should feel, as well as expectations that Momo's arrival will suddenly make everything blissful. I think she will, but I also think the beginning will be challenging. That's what I hear a least. In my humble opinion, I don't think anything can be tougher than the years spent on IF Island, but that's all I've known for so long.

I can't wait to meet this baby--this baby who was frozen for four years, and braved the world of my finicky uterus for the last nine months and is now somewhere between 6-7 lbs. I'm trying to stay focused on what's immediately in front of me, because that's all any of us can do, right?

Wishing everyone a great weekend, wherever you are in your journey. I'm hoping to post a little flashback video this weekend so stay tuned. And if you haven't yet checked out our documentary please do, and consider helping us raise the funds we need to really give a voice to the IF community through our Indiegogo campaign.

Also, Noah and I were featured on a few other blogs this week-- on Amateur Nester who is currently knee deep in IVF cycle three and sharing her journey, as well as on Ever Upward where Justine often writes about her IF journey and living a "childfull" life after deciding to live child free.

March 11, 2015

The other day, a friend of mine who also went through years of infertility and now has three kids, rubbed my belly and said, "Don't you wish someone could have told you this day would eventually come?"

"I don't know if I would have believed them," I answered.

I think I always knew in my heart that I would be a mother. Some how. Some way. But when the first IVF didn't work and then the IUIs proved to basically be a waste of time, and then IVF with my sister's donated eggs was a bust, everything kind of went dark. I knew I had to stay on this mission, and it really became a mission, but there were times when I just couldn't fathom anything working.

The IF Island survivors we have interviewed for our documentary told me that the day would come. That we would be able to close one painful chapter of our lives and start a new adventure. Sometimes I believed it, sometimes I couldn't. Noah always asked why we would keep pushing forward, keep hoping, keep believing if we didn't actually think things could be different. I agreed with him but sometimes felt I was pushing forward because that's all I knew to do. Moving seemed better than being still. Five years ago, when we first set out to make a baby, I don't know how I would have reacted if someone told me I would eventually get P with a donated embryo. I guess that's what happens when you just keep moving forward.

Yesterday we decided it was time to pack a hospital bag. Even though I'm at 37 weeks, and outweigh my husband, I still don't always believe this is all really happening. So far the bag consists of a package of lollipops, five different kinds of chapstick, a pair of PJ's and a giant robe Noah got me that would be better suited for a middle weight boxing champion.

I guess my point is sometimes there is a lot of darkness. Sometimes it's hard to believe things can be different, and sometimes you can't believe how different things actually are. And sometimes you just have to believe the light is there, even if you can't see it.

Wishing everyone on IF Island love and light. We're officially knee deep into week two of our Indiegogo Fundraising Campaign, and while we got off to a good start we still have a long way to go.

March 09, 2015

When my daughter Maya asked if I would like to guest blog, I wondered what I might say. I’ve been following her blog since she started writing it and I have also read all the comments, so I have become educated about an island I knew nothing about four years ago. I have been humbled and inspired by what I’ve read.

Knowing Maya as well as I do—she is one of my best friends as well as my daughter—I knew that she was a determined, opinionated woman with a strong life force. I like to think that I was supportive of everything she wanted to do and that I often encouraged her to break through whatever barriers that she encountered. But dealing with infertility was a barrier that she had to face alone—at least, initially, before any of her family support system could get their bearings. Well, not exactly alone. Her husband Noah was always there and this was something they had to deal with together.

Over the years, when I saw how unhappy she was, trying everything she could to make a baby, my heart felt just as broken as hers. We have a strong bond and when she hurts, I hurt. And though I told her I would do whatever I could to help, there was really little I could do outside of lending emotional and occasional financial support. It’s a helpless feeling for a parent. Yes, I’ll admit that at times when my wife and I were driving somewhere and we saw someone pushing a stroller with twins and another child tagging along, I thought of stopping the car to make an offer I knew they’d refuse. But in all seriousness, I thought it so unfair that so many young women seemed to be pushing strollers all over L.A. when my daughter was locked out from being one of them and yet wanted so badly to be.

Our journey as a family into the world of Assisted Reproductive Technology really began when Maya and Noah started looking into IVF, and culminated when her younger sister donated her eggs. My wife and I didn’t initially embrace the idea. From our perspective, such a donation could lead to complications. But in the end, we came around to being supportive of their choice, and we were proud of Maya’s sister for being so immediately willing to do whatever she could to help. When that attempt failed, we were all disconsolate. But once we recovered, it was on to the next step. Maya’s absolute belief that there was a child waiting for her to mother made her resolute. And we took strength from her lead.

We agreed with the acupuncture and hypnosis treatments and wept with her every time an IUI or IVF failed. But Maya continued to document her story in her blog and on film and we continued to believe that fate would be kind to her. So when she heard about the frozen embryo that was waiting for her in a clinic in Seattle, we clapped our hands and prayed that this was it, this was the one.

When Maya’s embryo transfer took, and Momo started to become a reality for us, we were hopeful, but not excited, because we had been through so much over the four years Maya tried to conceive. Excitement would come when she delivered. And when we found out her sister was also pregnant, nine weeks behind Maya, our hope doubled, but we still couldn't get really excited. We would like to have been excited—excitement is a nice state to be in. It leads to anticipation, to planning, to shopping for strollers and cribs and onesies. But after years of dealing with the roller coaster of infertility, excitement felt risky.

We’re now finally starting to get excited. But we have gone through so much we never expected to go through: until you start dealing with infertility clinics, with a cartload of medications and needles, with failure after failure while trying to keep hope alive, you just can’t imagine what it takes to turn sadness and despair around. My wife and I have been there every step of the way. We’ve offered our support, sent out positive thoughts, comforted our daughter the best we could, and when an attempt didn’t work out, we cried together. But we all grew stronger through this ordeal. We’ve become closer. We’ve had the advantage of reading Maya’s blog, so we know her true feelings; and we’ve been inspired by Maya and Noah’s resolve, and their willingness to film their journey so that others who go through this can see they’re not alone.

That they made the decision to document their lives on an island that exiled them from so many of their friends and coworkers, no matter what the outcome, was brave and daring. For four years they never knew what the ending would be, but they never lost faith. They believed there was a child out there and they believed they would find that child and love that child and they made us all into believers.

Maya is now entering her 36th week after the embryo transfer she was destined to have, and we all eagerly await the arrival of Momo, our first grandchild. And two months after Maya’s big event, we will also be applauding when her sister delivers our second grandchild, a baby boy. We know that we will love and cherish them both equally.

March 06, 2015

As part of our documentary, One More Shot, (which we are currently fundraising for at Indiegogo), Noah and I have interviewed a variety of different people who have created their family in alternative ways.

Meet Jasmine. We fell in love with Jasmine because of her honesty about the difficulties of being single in her 40's and desperately wanting to be a mother, and because she chose a road less traveled by, deciding to become a single mother through egg and sperm donation in her mid 40's.

Her story is the story of many people whose romantic life didn't go "according to plan." She was coming out of a long-term relationship at 38, and could hear the pounding of her biological clock almost daily. She looked into adoption, which isn't always easy for single people in their 40's, and she quickly decided to do multiple IUIs, which didn't work. She moved on to IVF with donor sperm and her eggs, which she put on ice, (she called them kidsicles) so when Mr. Right came along she would have her "back-up plan," in the freezer. A few years went by and Mr. Right hadn't shown up. She decided to defrost all six embryos and ended up getting pregnant with a singleton, only to miscarry at 7 weeks. That was it. The freezer was empty, but her desire to be a mom and her confidence that she would be a fabulous mom was still going strong. She continued to date with little luck, and then one day had a revelation. She could get donor eggs and donor sperm and rock it as a single mom! She would be the only decider about things and she would be able to give her love to a little person and create a family on her terms.

So that's what she did. Of course, it's more complicated than that-- with egg donors falling through etc. etc. Her journey to parenthood took a good 7 years. A few weeks before she was set to transfer her embryos, she met a guy. This guy was different. On their third date she told him her plan to pursue single motherhood, and was ready to embrace whatever reaction he had. She had made up her mind, her baby was coming. And luckily, her new beau was totally supportive and they are still together today. Her baby is probably about 7 months old now.

Jasmine's story is empowering and inspiring. Going through fertility treatments alone and deciding to be a single parent aren't easy decisions to make. But we live in a time where these things are possible. It's the definition of making a modern family and redefining what family means.

Happy Friday! Please continue to help us spread the word about the film as we are about to enter week two of our fundraising efforts!

March 04, 2015

Hubs post! And, surprise, there will be no football (we shall never speak of the Super Bowl) or baseball (SF Giants are still world champs) talk today.

As most of you know, this week we launched the funding campaign to finish our documentary. I knew that soliciting my friends and co-workers to support our project financially (I HATE asking for anything, especially money) would be a tough ask for a lot of people considering that many of them A) did not know we were making a film, and B) did not know the extent of our fertility troubles. Throughout our time on IF Island, I have kept my discussion of our situation brief and tight. Not that I am ashamed by what we've gone through (actually I feel pretty empowered) but it's hard to cram five years of trying to have a baby and three years of filming a documentary into a text message or a simple chat at the office.

So I sent the email out and I waited. What would people think? Would they be upset that I'd held out this info? Would they be confused about just what crazy science experiment we'd been performing on Maya? Would we get some ignorant comment of "see, well it all works out in the end" or disapproval on our choice of embryo donation? Honestly, I didn't even have time to regret sending the email. Within minutes I was receiving messages and emails from friends. Not to mention generous contributions. "Amazing," "brave," "Maya is a rock star," "tell me more," "it's all about friends and family." This is what I got back.

Opening up the conversation about your struggles with infertility is tough. It's kind of like working up the nerve to go talk to that high school crush. It's frightening. She's going to embarrass me. I'm going to embarrass myself. And then ... you just start talking. And you realize she's a real person. And she talks back. And she cares what you have to say. It's normal to fear that your family or your friends or co-workers won't get what you have to say, or they'll put you down for your situation. But, y'know, chances are they're normal people, not sociopaths. And they care about you. And they want you to have the family that you're striving to have.

Tonight as I drove home I called an old friend. He's got a family and we don't talk as much as we used to. And I told him I was sorry that I didn't mention all of this sooner. This process has been weird, I said, and I was just waiting until I could tell people in my life so that it wouldn't be weird any more. And he said, "I figured you'd say something when you were ready."

Sharing your story is a really personal decision. Not everybody has the support they might need and it can open you up to comments or criticism. It took me a while to come around on the idea of sharing all of this, but I'm glad I did.

We started making this film in 2012 as a way for us to process what was happening to us, and with the idea that we might make a short film about our single successful IVF cycle that we could share with others going through infertility. By 2014, our short film plan was way out the window. We had about 100 hours of footage and no idea how we were going to make a baby. Noah and I had fallen deeply into the abyss that is ART. We were broke and broken and yet always believed that there was a baby out there for us. We just had to find him or her.

So our story became more of a quest. At the intersection of modern medicine and that deep biological urge to have a family, came life lessons in compromise, survival, keeping hope alive, and sheer determination. We interviewed others who have sought alternative family building because we needed to know there were other ways to have a family. We felt these stories of people who got surrogates or donors, adopted or decided to live child-free, got miraculously pregnant when they were told they never would, or had successful IVF's or IUI's were such an important piece to all of this. So our short film turned into a feature film that we hope can educate people about infertility and making modern families. We hope the film will help increase awareness and understanding while decreasing stigma and isolation.

We are documenting because we feel like we have to. Our story is the story of millions of people around the world. Our story is becoming more and more common. Our story will provide some hope for others who are running in circles on IF Island, and some insight for anyone who doesn't know much about the world of IF.

But we need your support! Please pass our link around through twitter and other social media outlets. Tell your family and friends and help us spread the word!